When It Rains, It Pours
by Koyuki Aode
Summary: No, Omi! Don't----!!.... A thoughtful and vengeful rainy day's events as told through both Schwarz and Weiß eyes. Some shounen ai/spoilers involved. *Aya draft uploaded*
1. Nagi

Disclaimer: I dun own these people! @-x My muses are just so darned promiscuous…  
  
Beautiful [Nagi]  
By Koyuki Aode  
  
"Utsukushii."   
  
I don't know which is more beautiful. The velvet liquid pouring into the glass in my hand, or the turbulent rain that attacks my window in sweet, soft strikes. Tiny explosions set upon the glass, and hydrogen bonds work their way into my view. The collision of purity against a shield is an ironic incidence.  
  
I set the wine bottle down, allowing the base to thud gently on the crystal panes of our coffee table. The damned mahogany structure shakes with age, though we've only had it for about five years. It's been beaten past recognition, by the way we take advantage of it. I don't know why we bought it, or how it's even survived that long. Youth can be so fleeting.   
  
Suddenly, the ferocity of the brewing storm outside roars, and sends a barrage of waves against the platform outside. It's taken me this long to realize that the complex has been overcast with a freezing blanket of forgotten AC fumes. I suppress a shiver, and grab onto the coffee table. Unconsciously, my fingers had been tracing patterns along the various scratches in the carved legs.   
  
The garnet wine in my glass sloshes softly, and I give it a thrust, watching as the elegant liquid ribbons jump into the air. Squinting my eyes, I suspend them for a moment, turning them slowly, and inspecting them, the spectrum of reds and violets converging into patterns of clear and unclear waves. Imperfection caught in a moment of infinite beauty. Then the tainted scent reaches my nose, and my senses tingle with the covert hint of alcohol. With the distraction, my hold gives away, and the mellifluent ruby spills onto my hand.   
  
It reminds me of blood. Cast in spiderwebs against my unbroken skin. Farfello would be none too happy.   
  
"I didn't know you drink. Aren't you underage?" The nasal voice hinders my thoughts, collapsing the isolation I've been enjoying. It's his presence that brings to my attention the lurking silence from outside. The rainless skies, leaving trails of gray and slick sorrow along the horizon. I wish he couldn't read my thoughts. I know he's laughing at me inside. It makes me sick to think that he knows what I might not know. Even sicker to think that I can't know what he's thinking.  
  
"No, I don't drink." Turning to leave, I stuff the glass into his hand, avoiding the sight of his face. That annoying smirk framed by wild, orange hair. How Crawford can stand it…  
  
"He can't." Without warning, he pulls my arm, and brings my hand to his lips. His breath is surprisingly cold, and it sends a chill into my already freezing body.  
  
"Yamete." My voice is always so disturbingly calm. I tug once as a warning. Twice means worse, and he knows it. Three times has never been enough for me. Three times is always too long.  
  
Laughing emerald eyes look down at me, the smile in them is somewhat irked, devious. "Adults don't drink wine because of the alcohol, young one." He sniffs the sticky trails along my fingers. "We drink it for the pleasure." His tongue darts out, and I slam an invisible wall against him, instantly separating myself from his eager smirk by five feet of dehiscent space.   
  
I watch for five seconds as he realizes what has occurred, wishing he would realize how lucky he is. Amazingly, none of the wine has spilled from it's protective glass, and he steps back, admiring my side of the room carefully.   
  
Keeping my eyes on the window, I close the curtains. Rain has come and gone, with the fluency of a passing river. Definitely more beautiful. The rain always wins, and my distaste for alcohol remains consistent. With a puff of air, I leave the room, and plan to go online.   
  
"Neither is beautiful, Naoe." Schuldich says it dauntingly, keeping his voice low.   
  
Shut up Schuldich.   
  
"Nothing is beautiful… "  
  
Stops saying that word. It's mine. Shut up.  
  
"Not like you." 


	2. Omi

_I don't own them, and I'll never have enough money to, so don't even **think** about trying to sue me._

  
  
"Midori Memory"   
By Koyuki Aode   
Warning: Omi spoiler   
  
~...~ = thoughts 

Yamamotoyama. 

My most frequent brand. Green tea. It tastes just as it is scented. Ocha wa oishii desu ne. Spiraling wildly in my mug, I plop the bag continuously up and down, causing the upstir of bright yellow-green coloring to spread through the hot water. Is this the essence of Japan? A small pile of dirt crammed into a packet of immaculate dust, meant to give off the eloquent feel and attitude of zen-like serenity. A feeble, but expedient adventure into the inane. And sometimes, it's worth it, even if you do burn your tongue. 

Outside, it rains anew. I can imagine the ambrosial scent of the streets, lacking pedestrians, cars, bothersome people, all for the few moments of peace in the rhythmic din of translucent pearls. I'd be out there myself, if not for the complacent duty of this flower shop. It's warm in here, and I am alone. Alone with my flowers, thoughts, and tea. 

So, what does it remind me of this time? I peer into my cup, and carefully tug the string of the teabag, using momentum to cause a minimal amount of spill. Pale green, barely midori, scarcely yellow. A faded neon, perhaps, in the hopes of sparking some realism into my relaxation. Reality always makes us feel better, doesn't it? Now it reminds me of a dead lime. I'm sure of it. 

The bitter spice invades my calm senses, and brings me into a setting of trees. It's nothing lush, this vision, nothing beautiful or extravagent. And it certainly isn't green. It feels tainted, like an overhandled photograph. Sepia. Gosh, I'm getting ripped off for this bagged tea. But it doesn't stop me from bringing the cup to my lips. 

The water's still hot, and my hand tips the cup slowly. Steam eats away at my vision, and I can't help indulging in the memory. 

~~ 

It's autumn. 

"Nii-chan!! Nii-chan!!" 

Joyful laughter fills the air, and leaves, so many vibrant colors, of burgundy, tangerine, chestnut, and gold, all bless me fleetingly with numerous, nimble kisses. 

Gods, of all of my memories, why do the happiest ones choose to haunt me? They are supposed to be dead. 

My... brother. My brother Hirofumi stands smiling at me, watching me. A small glitter of sentiment showing in his eyes. He would soon leave for school, to study away from home. Away from me. 

"Do you really have to go away?" I attach myself stubbornly to his leg, not wanting him to depart any time soon. "I don't want you to!" 

"I have to! It's only school, Mamoru, I'll be back. Besides, you have Masafumi to watch over you." Masafumi. I don't like playing with him. He always plays weird games. Hirofumi taught me how to be smart with his games. 

I hug my eldest brother snugly, and look up at him, allowing all of my hidden admiration for him surface in my eyes. "I want you to stay, Nii-chan. I only want to play with you!" 

"Don't you worry, Mamoru, you'll be ok until I get back." 

* 

Silence follows his words, and I'm rooted in the forest, as it displaces into the abundant killing grounds of helpless teenagers. My brother was in charge of it. I was sent to stop him. 

"Mamoru?! I thought you were dead!" 

My brother. 

"Boku no nii-san... datta." 

~~ 

At first, I feel numb, but the physical world hauls me back when the biting sting of spilled tea sears onto my knees. On instinct, I've jumped to my feet, scooting my chair three feet away from the table, where the cup lays pathetically beneath it. Most of what has burnt my legs is puddled neatly on the floor, with additive beads plopping methodically from above. Groaning, I rub the paling liquid from my dripping extremities with the sleeve of my sweater. Of course, only an idiot like myself would wear shorts while it's raining. As I reach down for the cup, the lack of sound from outside catches my attention, and I see the threat of sun fighting with the clouds. No more rain. 

A drop of cold liquid reaches my finger, and I unconsciously lick it up with my tongue. Bitter. 

"Bitterweet." The reflection in the puddle smiles up at me. 

I blink twice and look back at my own stained image. He wouldn't dare. The flash, the small instant of interruption causes it to ripple. 

"Oh yes I would." All I see is his smirk. Delving into my essence, into my past. Ruining the one moment I might've had alone. "A memory is always worth it." 

"Schuldich." He can't be far. The dull ache he causes in my heart has been incited intentionally. With ease, my hand produces a small pencil, scrawling three kanji onto the table as I leave. ~Business. Omi.~ 

Turning the cap on my head in the right direction, my lungs fill with a determined breath, and the door pushes out of my way. 

Maybe it will rain again. 

* owari *  



	3. Ken

Disclaimer: I dun own these people! @-x My muses are just so darned promiscuous…  
  
No Dust [Ken]  
By Koyuki Aode  
  
I am in love…   
  
…with kinako mochi. It's a trivial novelty, I realize, but there's something about the beige, silk-soft, almost tasteless powder that appeals to my tongue. And it's not just any old kinako mochi I love, it's Mikawaya kinako mochi. Those small oozy blocks of green rice concoction with just a kiss of confectionery lightness, dusted modestly with kinako. Can bliss be far from this heaven-sent recipe? Just thinking about those tightly packed morsels… Well, there's just so much a person can take.   
  
So when it began to rain, and I was stuck inside on my day off, I began a staring contest with the inertly tiny structure of plastic encasing those very green mochi chunks sitting on Omi's desk. As it ended up, I'm here in the living room sitting with my butt on the floor, starting on Omi's collection of Rurouni Kenshin, and laughing and "ooh"ing through a mouthful of rice mush (also occasionally choking on powder!). In divinity, and a moment of child-like insanity, I admit that life can indeed be good at times. And darn it if Omi doesn't have good taste.   
  
Humming "Tactics" to myself, I stand up and reach for the next tape as the current one ends. Those Kenshin guys, they can really pick fights, can't they? And don't start with the red-hair, violet-eye thing. That's just creepy. The mere visual thought sends a thorough shiver down my spine, as I mechanically place the finished tape into the rewinder, simultaneously shoving the next one into the VCR. Rubbing my drowsy eyes with the sleeve of my orange shirt, I turn to face the dim glow of gray clouds. I like to wear my shirt backwards when it's cold, it serves as a semi-good robe, especially on lazy days like this.  
  
A delicate chill that coats the window envelops me in a quiet hug, and my hand leaves a small fog figure upon the glass. As the intermittent bellows of the storm rage upon the streets, thoughts of my soccer kids come to mind. Some will want to play soccer, some will relish the flooded fields.   
  
The breaths from my mouth cause small clouds of fog to block my view, as I strain to see somebody, anybody that might be outside. Doesn't anyone enjoy the rain? From the television, I can hear Kaoru once again giving Kenshin a good beat-down, and with a stifled snort, the sides of my mouth pull into a smirk, as I reach down for another piece of mochi to plop into my mouth. The sun always shines for them, doesn't it? I want the sun to come back.  
  
"Would you like some tea?" The sudden presence surprises me, stepping into my room, holding a mug out to me as I stand in my rumpled PJs with a faceful of mochi, and fists of kinako dust. One of his eyebrows twitch as he sees the mess I've caused.   
  
"Aa…" I rub the back of my neck lamely. Isn't he working today with Omi? "Aren't you working today with Omi?" Shouldn't he be in the shop? "Shouldn't you be~"  
  
"He drank all of the coffee, and now he's working on the green tea." He's annoyed. One thing you don't see everyday is this particular redhead in a slightly irked mood over a drink. "I don't see why he's finished off so much, we haven't actually_had_any_customers today. You'd better take some before it's gone."   
  
Covering my mouth with my sleeve, I inhale the vaguely intermingling scents of green tea and flowers that emanate from his direction. Aesthetic earth, perfumed with floral spice, the two naturally compliment each other. Like an exquisite garden of violets and reds, among a sea of emerald and brown soil. Maybe it is an ideal day for rain, to animate such a garden. Maybe…  
  
A thin red eyebrow remains raised as the mug floats in front of me. "Aa… 'K, thanks Aya." I carefully take the mug from his grasp and set it down. Nodding assuredly, he steps back and turns on his heel. With a quick sigh, I go back to the playing television and wait for the door to close. It doesn't.   
  
"Aya?"  
  
"Ken. What do you think?" His voice echoes softly against the door, as I watch the back of his hesitant figure.   
  
What do I think? About what? Kenshin? You? Me? Soccer? Mochi? The rain? Ka—  
  
"Have you noticed his state of mind, lately?"  
  
Omi. Ever since that whole mess with his family, the kid's been drowning his sorrows in more ways than one, like the… now dissipating rain. The flood of emotions that should be there are only a lulling series of gentle waves. The part of him that should be there isn't quite together, either. He almost got himself caught on a mission just two nights ago. No, not a kid. It's not a kid I'm thinking about.   
  
"I don't know what to do, other than give him time, or be his friend." I wonder if Aya caught my voice shift on that last word. His shadow seems contemplative from my view, but I'd have to see his face to know.  
  
Before he reacts, a muffled crash catches his attention, and the faint whimper that accompanies it catches mine.   
  
Violet eyes narrow in my direction. "… The shop." I push past him before he can finish saying it, and blaze my way to the source of the sounds.   
  
When I arrive, bursting through the door, my feet slip out of control, causing me to tumble. "What the~?"  
  
"Matte!" A strong hand comes up behind my back, and another grabs my arm, steadying my balance. After a moment of struggling, when my position finally stills, the hands fall. "He's gone." Curiously, my eyes follow his gaze to the scribbled note.   
  
~Business. Omi.~  
  
"-The hell is he- Why would he- What business??!" Oh, he'll get it when he gets back. When I find him. "There aren't any deliveries today. He never leaves the shop unattended!" I throw the front door open and glare at the glistening street, clenching my fist within my sleeve. Damned sun.  
  
Aya's iron grip locks on to my tense wrist before I can do anything, and in the calmest voice, he nods back inside. "Call Youji."   
  
My head turns and my mouth moves to argue, but the way his lips remain tight against his scowl forces me into submission. These cold, glareful guys always have that irresistible charming quality about them.   
  
"Fine."   
  
Yeah, like he's going to help. 


	4. Farf

Disclaimer: I dun own these people! @-x My muses are just so darned promiscuous…  
  
Crimson Fascination [Farf]  
By Koyuki Aode  
  
Sometimes, I don't like him much.  
  
Thoughtlessly, I tear open another pack of sugar with my teeth and dump its contents into my glass. Allowing two seconds for the abundance of crystals to dissipate, my hand drops a spoon in and stirs violently. Sweetness. Raw sweetness. As I watch the blush of dead, faded raspberries become unified with their counterpart, the liquid jumps about, a tornado of pale red. When the glass has had enough, my fingers abandon the spoon, causing the liquid, ice, and utensil to crash into themselves.   
  
Schuldich, I mean.   
  
There he sits, occasionally poking at his food with a fork, enjoying every drop of sauce that he can. What is that anyway? It smells too sweet and sickening to be enjoyable. And coffee. As if that brown crap does anything worthwhile. Let the American have his ways and influence, but they'll never get me to try coffee.  
  
Yet, he is enjoying it. He sits demurely on his side of the booth, somehow casual and provocative at the same time. The usual bandanna, jacket, pants deal, with a pair of gloves. After all, it could start raining again at any time. His position is immaculate, one hand pressed against the seat of leather, supporting his weight, the other daintily dancing above his dish as his fingers twirl the gold-turning-on-brass fork. In sparks, the dim candlelight of the flame on our table reflects into my eye, and I can't be sure whether he's doing it on purpose, or not. With a presence that is of a bored child, he looks as if he should be humming a tune while waiting for someone to come and amuse him. Today, his tune is silence.   
  
As if the din of voices in his head could possibly equate to his own thoughtfulness. How he deals with the "gift" he has, I'm not quite sure. I know that I would go insane with knowing too much, all of it. But then, I've a recourse, rather than an ability (or curse). And well, you know what they constantly say about me...  
  
As I dip my fingertips into the small sea of red in my glass, my mind wanders. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing here with him. Lazing about on a Saturday, in an expensive restaurant where nearly half the staff is appalled by my missing eye and leather, chain dripping pants, is not my idea of fun. Of course, those looks of muted fright on a few of those patrons' faces might have been enough to hurt God, but I'm not quite intent on that right now. Right now, my raspberry iced tea is getting warm, and I'm wondering why I've taken to using a butter knife to carve a hole into the propped up knee of my pants. My other leg has been waiting impatiently in the aisle to trip up the busboy, but he's been keeping his eye out. Damn him. I'm bored.  
  
After a trek of crawling silence, the redhead sighs, as he's been doing every fifteen minutes, and runs a delicate hand through his bright orange locks, trailing nonchalant fingers against the fabric of his bandanna. The color of the strands explodes against his skin, and he shakes his hand out of a few tangles, tucking them behind his ear. If he knows I'm watching or not, he doesn't show it. His eyes are glued to the window, waiting for someone to come.   
  
~I do.~   
  
A fleeting glance of emerald, then his face is turned to the glass again, undisturbed in anticipation. He'll do that often. Pop into my mind, offer some form of teasing play, then disappear again. I think he does it to all of us. Nagi seemed upset before we left.   
  
"Who are you waiting for?" Finger by finger, the pallid crimson drips onto my tongue, a tingling fade of flavor tickling my tongue.   
  
~You're not really that curious, are you?~  
  
"Maybe…" leaning forward a bit, my hand moves to my knee as the other slams the butter knife down, causing his dish to quake. ~I_am_bored. But you knew that already.~  
  
~Well, it's not *my* problem.~ His mouth twitches in a momentous sneer, then his attention drifts again.   
  
"Who did Crawford decide wasn't virtuous enough to stay on their own? If you hadn't pissed Nagi off, I wouldn't be here."   
  
~Hell, if I hadn't pissed Naoe off, * I* wouldn't be here.~  
  
Nice. "Then what's the purpose? And speak with your mouth, people are going to think I'm psycho."   
  
~Why don't you just think to me?~   
  
~I don't *want* to.~  
  
That causes him to blink, and he turns fully to face me, setting his fork down carefully. "You're hilarious... Seriously. You are just hilarious." His lips play with an odd smile, almost sincerely, and his fingers trace against his hairline, again. "I'm waiting for Bombay." The strands are neatly tucked, again, and start on their way from behind his ear, again. Emerald eyes twinkle in my direction, and my face twitches against the constant cold of the room.   
  
"Why?" I lick my lips, finally noticing that I'd been rubbing the edge of the butter knife against my thumb. A melting cube of ice pops to the surface of my tea, and my straw jumps to the side of the cup, as a blushing drop flings itself onto the white tablecloth. The liquid spreads in a small radius, then slows.   
  
"Because I want to."   
  
His smile takes on a childish malice, and I blink my eye in response. "…"  
  
"What?" Pulling back dramatically, his face flinches with abashed surprise, "I'm not allowed to?"   
  
"Well, that depends." I wag the knife at him thoughtfully. "I still don't know what you want to do."   
  
"You'll see." His head tilts, and more of his hair falls out of place. It looks nice like that. At least, it looks nice when you're as bored out of your mind as I am. Silken, shiny strands of amassed beauty will do that  
to your mind. Really.  
  
"You just love torturing kids, don't you?" My eye squints down as I ask the question, trying to probe his mind as he would do to me.  
  
In a brief moment of thought, his nose scrunches. ~Huh… Never thought of it that way.~ With a shrug, his body turns back to the window and he leans against the back of his seat. ~It's not like you wouldn't do the same. This constitutes as hurting God, doesn't it?~  
  
I suppose it does. ~But I'm still left with no reason.~   
  
~You don't need one now. Just… trust me.~   
  
Funny.  
  
~By the way, the busboy's coming. He's not paying attention, either. Got a loadful of dishes…~  
  
Raising the glass to my lips, I further extend my leg into the aisle.   
  
"Cheers."  
  
Ok, he's not *that* bad. 


	5. Schu

Disclaimer: I dun own these people! @-x My muses are just so darned promiscuous…  
  
Golden Humor [Schu]  
By Koyuki Aode  
  
Mein Gott, it is so good... so decadent, I want...  
  
Well, I want to screw someone. Or to be screwed. Or both, actually. Why bother with details, it's just so luscious and *divine*, it can't be ruined by anything else. And there's still sauce left on the fork!   
  
It even helps me forget the constant murmur of voices in the background. It's that good.  
  
I take the utensil into my mouth, unable to resist the urge to smile contently as a scant of sweet sauce greets my tongue, with the richness of a melted jewel. A shuddering breath whirls within me as my eyes threaten to close. Then, sensing some reaching thoughts, I turn my gaze away from the window.  
  
Farfello is intent on giving me an odd look as he waits for the busboy to come. He actually *stops* playing with his tea and rubbing the butter knife to assess the scene. His pale, full lips press together uncertainly as he moves his hand up to rub a section of cropped, snow-tinted hair; ashen skin mingling with the almost complete lack of color. Still unsure of his attitude toward me, he internally struggles for words to say. Skittering, jumbled thoughts tickle the roof of my mouth and I almost let out a laugh as each of his piercings gleam sheepishly in my direction.   
  
The candlelight, though misplaced between the two of us, is effective enough; it does well in causing his skin to glow with the warmth that his personality lacks. Anxiously, watching me, his leather-bound knee grinds against the table. Several seconds wasted tick uncomfortably for him. Grinning back at him, I find it hard to bite back the soft moan that rolls from my tongue as I suck on my fork.   
  
Finally, his golden eye widens and he blinks rapidly. He opens his mouth slightly as he raises an eyebrow at the fork. "You are very strange." His own tongue covertly slips out to lick the remains of crimson beverage off of his lips. I turn my eyes down for an instant to watch as more tea drips from his fingers, relaying a pattern onto the almost pristine tablecloth. That hand... lethal, pale, dexterous, and always - still - dripping with crimson.  
  
It sure took him long enough to respond. "Wha?" I try my best to pout and speak through the fork. *I'm* the strange one? "Ihf guuuuhdh!" With a snort, he flicks his fingers in my direction, sprinkling my side of the table with the paling red. As the liquid meets my face, my mouth opens in protest. "Hey-" my hand closes over the fork that threatened to fall, "-What was that for?!" Self-conscious fingers grasp wildly at my jacket for violating droplets.  
  
"For being a hungry fool," he smirks back at me, still shaking his hand dry. "Also, I don't want to stain my clothes." His other hand gestures down at his vest and leather pants. The leather pants he is intent on perforating with butter knives.  
  
My hands gesture wildly at the air in front of my jacket. "Well- I-" What am *I* wearing?! "Use a nap-"  
  
"-And for not telling me your plan." His voice has reached an all new, low level. It's not the non-chalant, observant articulation from the back of his throat - he's actually quite curious. Or, demanding to know. Inquiry is for more subtle people; Farfello doesn't do subtle.  
  
"Didn't I tell you to trust me?" I glare at him above the napkin I've taken to my cheek.   
  
He nods, confirming the statement. "I trusted you for two whole minutes. Now I deserve the information."   
  
"I'll tell you, just wait a little longer!-" My mouth snaps closed, and I scoot over just in time to avoid a flying plate. More dishes follow and I remain pressed against the wall and window until the tripped busboy has come to a complete stop. Farfello's taken to biting his lip, almost disappointed as he regards the boy in silence. I, on the other hand, had been in *danger* the entire time. "Well, geez, kid. You could've hurt someone!" Carefully avoiding plate shards, I scoot back into place.  
  
An exasperated sigh escapes the victim's mouth, as well as a few well-placed curses, and he pushes himself back up through the debris. This'll take a lot out of his salary. Anger is boiling and he wants to punch Farfello so badly, he can taste the crimson dripping from his offender's hand.   
  
Ah, the gore that would follow - I just can't allow it this time.   
  
~Don't mess with what you don't know, kid.~  
  
His head snaps up at me, but I return to my pudding, ignoring the helpful clean-up staff that has come to clear the area.   
  
~It's not worth it this time.~  
  
*  
  
A deep breath captures the scent of heavy whiskey sauce and it's almost impossible for my senses to ignore anything but the dish. I can feel the gleam in my eyes as I attack the dessert with my fork again, plunging into fleshy beige brioche, enhanced with a lavish sprinkling of plump, tight raisins. Slowly, achingly, I take the glob drowned in sinful sauce, illuminated by a golden sheen of liquid sand, and slip it between my lips. My tongue is wrapped in sheer jubilation as I tease my taste buds with the chunk.   
  
Shit, this is great stuff. I could probably get hard off of it.  
  
Again, Farfello's looking at me. I swallow hurriedly, still tugging at the morsel for a glimmer of sauce. As I lick my lips, I indulge on the remains of the tastefully obscure "New Orleans Bread Pudding." A difficult name in itself to remember, I had to get him to read the menu for me when I ordered it. Who knew that they served this sort of sinful food in Japan?  
  
~Are you going to tell me?~ Now that his small task is done, he's got both of his legs folded as he leans onto the table with his elbows. One of his hands lingers on his tea glass.  
  
I tilt my head right and stare at him. ~Rather impatient, aren't you?~ He's taken to non-verbal conversation again. Woo, I'm in trouble.  
  
~Maybe.~ He pushes the glass in inch forward, then indicates his tilting hand with a nod.   
  
I straighten up in unconscious alarm. ~You wouldn't...~  
  
~Only you know.~ He smirks in reply.   
  
So. He's got the power now, and it's sloshing in a half-empty glass of raspberry iced tea. Of all the irritating, incessant... IMMATURE... ~Are you convinced?~ I hadn't noticed it through the telepathy, but his voice had returned back to normal.  
  
What a way to end a great meal! If one single drop gets on this jacket... Damn, dry-cleaning is hell. Prick. No, wait, Bradley's the prick... Nagi's the brat... he's the... asshole? I'm the asshole. Jerk! ~Well, that depends.~ I drop the fork and dab at my mouth with a rough napkin. ~Do you like me, or not?~ Ha, take that.  
  
Without warning, the cup falls over, spilling watery crimson in a nice, tight circle over the surface of the tablecloth. Thankfully, it's spreading slowly enough to allow me escape of the invading liquid. Farfello looks up at me - no… past me, his smirk twitching into a bemused smile. When a shadow finally falls over my view, I turn my head to the window. And there he is.   
  
Bombay.   
  
His small, anxious hands are evenly spread upon the windowpane, as flashing cerulean eyes narrow in contempt. Sniffling almost confidently, his tongue darts out, lips half-parting in an accusing way. ~You…~ The mental hiss makes its way into my head, in a terse, caustic whisper.   
  
His chest heaves with ragged breath, and clouds of fog puff into both of our views from the cold window. ~I've found you.~ His lips barely move, but I can hear the lone, triumphant thought in his mind. I nod back at him, feeling another smile creep onto my lips.  
  
My eyes dart to Farfello. ~You seem to be feeling better.~ I examine the glimmer of distant pleasure in his eyes as his hand slips away from the cup. He nods, then, without a word, he stands and finds his way through a few spare dish shards, leaving enough money for the meal. Where he got that much currency, I have no idea.   
  
As I move to follow him, the aggravated kitten tails us from outside, watching intently through the windows as we walk past each one. We've also, again, elicited stares from the restaurant patrons. The staff seems to have disappeared.  
  
When we reach the door, I grab the handle from Farfello's grasp, and peek outside, spying the flash of Weiss' cap and a glimmer of straw-colored strands from around the corner.   
  
"Feel like picking off another Takatori?" My gloved hand shows him the way out.   
  
He brushes past me, already reaching into his vest pockets. "Always."  
  
I refuse to be beaten for it this time. 


	6. Aya

Disclaimer: ... If I owned these guys, I wouldn't *need* fanfiction... @_o  
  
"Never, Have I Ever"  
By Koyuki Aode  
~...~ = thoughts  
  
  
Ken is doing it again.  
  
Brazen fingers fly over the buttons as he puts the receiver against his ear. "Hey.. Youji?"   
  
He's... watching me.   
  
"Yeah, it *is* a good thing I caught you before you turned it off... Well, now you have something to do. You won't believe..."  
  
As he speaks with our teammate, his chestnut eyes follow my mopping, without much discretion. I'm not sure if he does it unknowingly, or with some conscious motive, but he's been doing it a lot lately. It can get pretty creepy.   
  
At least he's not blushing this time.  
  
Looking slightly disgruntled, Ken's mouth twitches, and he listens to the "old man" before turning to me. "Ok, hold on." Chocolate strands shift as he lifts his head for eye contact. "Aya, he's wondering why you weren't watching Omi."   
  
I pause in mopping and stare back.   
  
"Well?"  
  
A breath escapes my lungs as I stifle a snort. "Why would I have watched him? He can take care of himself..."  
  
"He says Omi can take care of himself..." Again, Ken tilts his head and listens. Then he looks up. "Yeah..." Chestnut orbs breach mine, as he relays Kudou's words to me. I know what he's going to say and I follow the sentence with my thoughts. "Most of the time."   
  
After more listening, Ken nods and hands me the phone, taking the mop from my grip. "Wants to talk to ya." I take the receiver as he turns to continue mopping, questioning him silently.   
  
A peek of chestnut looks back at me. "Go ahead, I'll listen in from here."   
  
The receiver feels warm against my ear, and I inhale his clean scent before speaking. "Nani?"  
  
"Oi! The kid finally hits trans-emotional puberty, and you don't even watch him?!" Youji's fast voice tumbled through the receiver. "Do you have any *idea*--"  
  
"He's fine."  
  
"He's angsty. Yeah, I'm the old one, and hell, that means I know more, but not everything. You knew about this. You should've watched."  
  
"I listened. That was enough."   
  
"You weren't listening enough. It takes more than your ears to help a friend."   
  
"He was drunk. What else was I supposed to do?"  
  
Friend? Is that why he had spoken to me that night? My thoughts clouded to the conversation.  
  
*  
  
Omi had had only about two and a half small cupfuls - having snuck into our reserve - before I heard the crash from the kitchen. I had taken to sitting in my room in silence for the entire day, which encompassed some very lazily passed free time as Youji and Ken had flower duty. The sudden interruption was a loud one. The book that had found a home in my hands was ripped from my grasp by the invisible force of surprise, and I jumped up, unconsciously reaching for my weapon.   
  
Finding a bat to my liking, I picked it up and slipped out of my room. "Omi," I called out warily, seeing nothing but undisturbed rooms in the apartment.   
  
"A.. Aya-kun..." Omi was crawling sluggishly from the kitchen, the essence of sake weighing heavily in the air. When he saw me approach, he looked up sheepishly, a pitiful look in his glazed cerulean stare. Already, I could see his cheeks turning red, and he looked like he was having trouble focusing on me.   
  
My head snapped down at him and I glared as best as I could. "What the hell were you doing?" It was obvious, but also illegal. Also, we were scheduled to go on a mission later, and there he was, compromising it all.  
  
"Gomen. I just thought... I thought..." He bent his head down, closing his eyes as if bracing for a wave of pain. After a minute passed, I knew he wouldn't look up again, so I bent to help him.   
  
"Come on, I'll help you to your room."   
  
Omi nodded, breathing lightly and quickly. "I'm sorry," I heard him stifle a groan, and his voice sank to a weak whisper. "I don't think I'm taking this too well." The last few words ended in a squeak. His eyes were still closed, and his face scrunched.  
  
I rolled my eyes and picked him up.   
  
His head hit my shoulder as I carried him, and his eyes opened again, focusing on nothing. He felt absurdly warm for the little he drank, and his partial-wheezing was harsh against my ear, and it was easy to tell after his first time drinking... Omi is allergic to sake.   
  
...  
  
"Baka." He lay in his pristine bed, almost dead drunk and trying his best to hold a conversation with me as his head lolled this way and that. I watched him from my position by the door, preparing to turn the light off to ease his eyes. His hair sparkled in the pale shine, like a bundle of spindled gold, being blown about by stuttering breath.   
  
"I've just been stressed out... really. That's all. With this school break, and time to myself. We weren't even assigned a mission until yesterday. It's so hard, not being busy..."  
  
"That doesn't mean you have to drink. You're underage, and now you've found out you're allergic. This isn't really helping you. And we have a mission today--"  
  
"--I know." He cut me off.   
  
I flicked the lights off, leaning against the door to watch the glow of Tokyo evening radiate from his sheets. A silence came between us, but he controlled it completely, shifting his gaze in the dark to see me. "You've never spoken to me this much before, Aya-kun."  
  
Four sentences? I've never said more than four sentences to him?  
  
"I wasn't sure if you would care about me drinking. I was hoping you would, in case I got out of hand. I guess I never got a chance to get out of hand..."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Time is a good thing to have, isn't it? I thought I'd never get a break between school, missions, and the flower shop, but Ken and Youji have been pretty lenient for me. And now that I have the time - too much time - it's killing me."  
  
This caused me to lick my lips. I knew exactly what he meant. Right after my parents died, and my sister was knocked into her coma, I wanted revenge... but my life had been so empty afterwards. I knew what I wanted, and that was the only thing I could do afterward - focus on what I wanted. Moments alone, harboring anger and sadness, was all that consumed my time. Before I had been hired to kill, I had too much time on my hands.  
  
He took my silence as an acceptance and continued. "It's not the loneliness, really, so much as the thinking. I can't help thinking. It struck me today..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Everyone in my family is dead, except for me. And I'm not even part of that family."   
  
"Omi, you--"  
  
"--I can't erase it, and I don't blame you, Aya-kun. But it's so... It disturbs me. People I would know, if I could remember them, and probably had some good memories with. For a portion of my life, they *were* my family. It's twisted that most of them wanted to hurt me, yes, but... I can't help feeling attached anyway."   
  
He was excluding Ouka and Persia from his thoughts, with good reason.   
  
"It's something I can't help poring over with my mind. Just a hindering feeling of some sort of pathetic survival."  
  
"Hn." I nodded my agreement.  
  
"You really need to talk more, Aya-kun." His slurring tongue was slowing down. "I'll - no - we'll understand. It's not that hard, really." He stared up at the cieling, cerulean orbs eerily catching the moonlight. "People are so similar to each other, it's frightening. Sure, we're all different in our own ways, and we have different reactions to the same things but... we're still human. And as human beings, the collective, there are certain things we all do feel. Well, most of us, anyway. There are people like Schwarz who exist."   
  
His voice turned at the name and he shifted in bed. His tongue was nearing a complete stop. "I wish you would talk more, sometimes. Some noise wouldn't be so bad around here..." He trailed off into a barely audible whisper.  
  
He turned away from me and sighed loudly. "G'night.. Aya-kun. Tell 'em I'm sorry... for the mess and for the mission... All of the info is on the computer desk."   
  
Before I left, the sparkle of a few wet streaks along his cheeks caught my eye. The reflected moonlight shimmered at me, urging me to go on.   
  
*  
  
I had been his confidante that night. He had chosen to wait until I was the one with a day off. He wanted to be my confidante.   
  
"Okay, guy, hold on. I think I've found him... Oh SHIT!" I cringe as his tires screech to a stop. "Schwarz?! Three of them!"   
  
"Schwarz?!"  
  
Ken issues a grunt of warning to catch my attention. He's standing in front of me, gripping the mop tightly and questioning me with flecks of danger in his eyes. "Aya, what's going on?"  
  
Youji's voice undulates between anger and worry as he curses. "F***ing idiot kid, I swear I'll beat him myself once we get back." The car engine stops and he continues ranting. "Depression, drinking... chasing after Schwarz bastards! Our lifestyle doesn't exactly *support* tha--"  
  
Ken grabbed the phone from me. "Youji, what's going on?!" I watched as his face twisted darkly. "Where are you? Uh huh. Yeah..." Again, his chestnut gaze fell upon me. "Go ahead, they probably won't give a-- What are they doing? No-yeah-you go, we'll be there." He hung up. "Aya--"  
  
"--Tsunami Cafe."  
  
He blinks at me, mouth prepared to give the news. "How'd you know that?"  
  
I feel like a complete idiot, finally noticing the advertisement Omi has tacked to the wall. That's where we've been ordering lunch from for the past month.   
  
A sight of crimson dripping from pale hands permeated my thoughts, and I snap back to Ken's urging eyes. "Aya, we've got to hurry."  
  
Damn. It's all been set, for so long.  
  
"Let's go." 


End file.
